Effects & Consequences of a New God
by CynicalModerate
Summary: The Souls of Purgatory are his, filling him and granting him power he could never have dreamed of. The world, in all its broken nature, is finally revealed to him. Creation needs a God who is there - He will be that God. *Part 5: I Wish I'd Said Yes*
1. Part 1: Something to Believe In

**A/N:**_ The finale was awesome and depressing, and I totally saw it coming. Now I write this...drabble? I don't know, cathartic writing I guess. Let me know what you think._

**Synopsos:** _The Souls of Purgatory are his, filling him and granting him power he could never have dreamed of. The world, in all its broken nature, is finally revealed to him. Creation needs a God who is there - He will be that God. 6x22. drabble...ish.  
><em>**Word Count: **_662 _

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><p><em>"Where once a tyrant had to wish that his subjects had but one common neck that he might strangle them all at once, all he has to do now is to 'educate the people' so that they will have but one common mind to delude." ~ Richard Mitchell<em>

The Souls roiled and burned inside him, filling him to the brim and making him feel like he was going to burst. He thought for a moment he might die, that their evil and sheer magnitude would suffocate and obliterate any and all part of him, and that he would never be able to accomplish what he needed to do. It would be here, at the end of all things, alone and overwhelmed by these Souls of things long past he would die.

In that moment, he had such regrets.

But as the memories flooded him and the oppressive filling reached its peak, something gave way –a sickening squelch sounded in his ears and the release of the pressure. He felt the Souls shift, change, boil and then settle. There was a panic when he realized what was happening, what they were doing. The Souls sunk into the flesh of his vessel, the meat and blood screaming in protest as the burning spread and organic matter was consumed to feed a long suffering hunger. Deeper than that, reaching into the purely energy, purely spiritual form that was the real him, he felt the Souls brush against that vulnerable and soft part of him. His Grace fluttered in shock and response, and that was all that was needed.

The evil and resentment of the Souls seized their chance and flooded his Grace, mixing and caressing, the sensation revolting and erotic at the same time as the intense wrongness of the Souls merged with his Grace. He felt transformation take hold, felt the sheer Power they granted his Grace, the tainting edge spreading until there was no discernable beginning of where the Souls and Grace met.

It was done, then.

Everything he sought was now within his grasp.

He could end this war, end the cycle of death of hopelessness with a thought.

He could end Raphael's rule and plans before he could condemn the world to death.

Something stirred, the Souls' whispering with the lightness of his Grace.

But did it end there? Was this really the end? Heaven was in shambles and the world, the earth with its entire broken and faithless people, it needed to be fixed. The whole of Creation needed a savior, a God who was there…

He never had anyone to believe in him, he realized that now. He never had the faith of others – only his own, and that had been given to people who truly never cared about him in the first place. His brothers…petty, capricious, vindictive, spoiled, weak, faithless, _sheep_. They never believed in him, not truly.

He took a deep breath, closing eyes for a moment that saw so much more now.

And the Winchesters…

The world needed faith, the world needed a God to see and follow. The flock needed a shepherd.

He had believed in the world, in the brothers, in God – his Father, and maybe in the Host…but no more. He couldn't believe in these things.

Yes…the world needed faith.

He would give them something to believe in now, give them faith. And they would bow, and they would serve, and the songs that had once filled Heaven in honour of his Father would now be sung for him.

The Souls, his Grace, murmured in approval.

He was God now, His Will, His Kingdom, His Name.

On Earth as it would be in Heaven.

Castiel, angel no more, servant and son abandoned, turned and opened eyes that saw the fallen world before Him.

So broken, so faithless.

He would give it something to believe in.

With a flutter that sounded of thunder, the God of the Coming World went to meet His children.


	2. Part 2: La Roi est Mort, Vive la Roi

**A/N: **_Another one, sort of a companion piece to "Something to Believe In", though not really connected. It was an attempted drabble that got away from me and became this. I did originally have it as a separate fic, but I'm thinking I may write a series of one-shots based around the finale and figured I would put them all in one fic. Anyway, I hope you like it, let me know what you think._

**Synopsis: **_He helped the new God of Creation ascend to power. Now Crowley reflects on the new order of the cosmos and copes with his new predicament in the only way he knows how. Post-6x22.  
><em>**Word Count: **_1527_

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><p><em>"Destiny: A tyrant's authority for crime and a fool's excuse for failure." ~ Ambrose Bierce<em>

Crowley stumbled into the bar in a blink of an eye, righting himself immediately and strolling out from the little hall that led to the bathrooms as if he had just been in there. He was woefully overdressed in his suit, but it made him feel dignified to be in such a squalled place and grace it with his presence.

He winced at the word, scowling for a second before replacing it with a leisurely smile.

_Grace._

It was mere hours ago that the world had changed, the balance of power – if there had ever been one – had shifted completely to a new side. Purgatory was emptied of its Souls, consumed and fueling an angel that had no inkling or concept of what Power truly was. He was a beast now, an angel no more, a God among the rest of the insects of Creation.

Despite the terrifying realization of it all, Crowley smiled all the more, a barely noticeable tick that pulled the corners of his mouth upward from a bored to a bitter one.

He walked up to the bar after quick glance around, noticing that he was the only patron of the establishment, settling into a stool and producing a small silver flask from his coat pocket. As he unscrewed the lid and raised it to his lips, knuckles rapped the table in front of him and made him stop short.

"Hey buddy, no outside drinks."

Crowley looked at the man and gauged his age to be around his early 30s, lean and hard under his white t-shirt and green apron, dark curls cropped close to the scalp and amber brown eyes cautious. The demon raised an eyebrow in question, assessing.

"You got Craig?" he asked lightly.

"No."

Crowley smirked and toasted the man. "Then sod off, ponce," he said, taking a large swig.

The bartender bristled, jaw setting and nostrils flaring slightly at the insult and crossing his arms across his broad chest. Crowley sighed and set the flask down, snatching up the little placard on the bar and raking his eyes over the crudely printed words before tossing it down.

"Since you are such a cutie," he began, a lewd smile playing on his lips as he saw the man start suddenly, "and I have no desire to get into a fight at the moment, I'll try your…" Crowley's eyes darted to the menu again and his lip curled slightly, "'World Famous Hot Wings' – oh _God_, I've fallen this far…?"

The bartender caught the demon's eyes and he frowned, nodding slightly and turning away to carry out the order. Crowley's eyes drifted down his backside for a brief second before he quickly rapped his knuckles on the bar like the man had moments ago.

"Oy, bring me a thing of Jack Daniels and Johnnie Walker – I'm feeling generous tonight."

Swill, both of them, but he was chasing a buzz and maybe something more. Anything would do right now.

Castiel would come for him, he knew. There was no way he wouldn't, this new God. He regretted everything now, the deal and partnership – especially the last one with Raphael. That scored him no brownie points with the new Supreme Deity.

He took another swig of his flask and ignored the dirty look the bartender gave him.

He felt…

The demon frowned, disliking the emotions that bumped heads inside him. He felt gypped, betrayed, insulted by the angel's actions. He had been willing to carry out his part of the deal, split the Souls 50-50 and then part ways, leaving the angel to sort out his lot in Heaven.

He had, hadn't he?

The demon mentally shrugged and sunk down on his elbows, resting his cheek against the palm of his hand. He didn't know anymore, everything had gone to utter shit so quickly he couldn't remember what he was going to do with their partnership once Purgatory had been opened. He'd had such plans, such grand plans, and now they were undone because of a feathery-ass son of bitch with a messianic complex.

Crowley knew Castiel was God now because he'd heard the proclamation even though he'd been far away at the time. Creation itself had shuddered at the words when the angel had spoken, making everything with a supernatural heritage cower slightly at something they didn't understand yet. But Crowley knew, he'd heard and understood, and for the first time in a long time he could admit he was _terrified_.

Truly and utterly terrified.

Once, the demons had their Hell and the angels their Heavens, the battle ground in between. There was no fear of a reprisal from God – THE God, the Creator – because it was known He didn't care enough to handle things Himself, despite the babble of the humans and the blind devotion of His messengers. But now that was over, this new God, this once-angel with the Power of millions upon millions of Souls at His disposal, He wouldn't be content to regulate His rule to the creatures He once called brothers. He wouldn't passively sit by and watch the world unravel as children battled for souls and faith. There was no place that was safe – Heaven, Hell, Earth, Castiel would tear the fabric of reality apart to have what He wanted and then remake it again in His own image.

The whiskey was poured in front of him and Crowley downed it immediately in an attempt to placate the bartender, his face twisting in a grimace at the poor taste. Swill, just like he said. Pig-piss utter swill.

He couldn't run any more. Well, he could and he would – it was what he'd been doing since he fled the all-powerful angel and abandoned Raphael to his fate. But inside he knew it would do no good – Castiel would find him and use him for whatever plans He had, or He would simply obliterate the demon.

The bartender returned once again and placed the plate of wings before the demon, who muttered a thanks and picked up the messy finger-food, tearing apart one and letting his imagination turn it into the limb of the angel who'd betrayed him. The sauce smeared his fingers like blood, the taste of meat and spice dancing on his tongue and mixing with the alcohol that lingered there.

Crowley's brow raised in surprise and he nodded approvingly. "These are pretty good," he commented to the bartender, who was watching him with a confused expression. "I wouldn't say 'World Famous' quality, but pretty damn good…"

He devoured the first three within two minutes then settled himself to savour the remaining three, staring at his reflection across from him as he ate and letting his mind drift.

Did the Winchesters survive their encounter with the new God? Would the 'profound bond' that Castiel had gone on about be enough to spare the brothers from the capricious deity? Crowley admitted to himself that he didn't know. He didn't know much anymore. He did suppose if the boys survived and Castiel didn't find him first, then the Winchesters would. Somehow they would turn all this mess into his fault.

For the first time, Crowley began to wonder about Fate, about Destiny, if these abstract guidelines had really been killed or made obsolete when the Apocalypse had been averted. Maybe everything he'd done, double-crossed Lucifer and Hell, helped the Winchesters find Death, turned Castiel on to Purgatory and its arsenal of Souls, maybe it all had been decided for him. Maybe he'd failed because he was supposed to fail…

He smirked and pushed the thought away, biting into another wing. What did it matter anymore? The King of Hell couldn't stand up to the new King of Creation.

The old King is dead, long live the King.

There'd be no deal with Castiel now. The angel – God, he reminded himself – didn't need deals or partnerships anymore. Reality and all its laws would bend to His will.

And he, Crowley, King of the Crossroads and of Hell, was just along for the ride.

Just like the rest of the world.

Thunder rumbled in the distance, making the demon tense and fear prickle along his shoulders. The new God was flexing His wings, he knew, giving a foretaste of His omnipotence. He looked at the bartender and smiled, seeing the apprehension in the lean form, the fear and confusion in the man's eyes that he didn't understand. Even they, the blind and ignorant humans, could sense the change. Instinctual, a throwback to their evolutionary past that warned them of dangers unseen.

"The world's changing," said Crowley casually, taking a drink from his flask and watching the man's attention fix on him. "New management, new rules. You guys are in for a hell of a ride. But the real question is this…"

Crowley leaned in, smiling widely as he winked.

"When do you get off?"

The demon frowned when the guy didn't catch the double entendre. Later, when the demon had him pinned to the wall in the alley behind the bar, he explained it to him.


	3. Part 3: Justification

**A/N: **_Another addition, I know - you're probably getting tired of these but...it's kinda what these things are for. This was actually inspired by images of the Grimsvotn volcano erupting in Iceland, and as I wrote I made mention of the destructive storms that had swept the US. I dunno, hope you like it.  
><em>**Synopsis:**_ Castiel reflects on the Winchester's abandonment and their denial of His sovereignty, fueling His anger into destructive signs of nature as He tries to justify to Himself the reasons for His choices.  
><em>**Word Count: **_731_

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><p>They didn't understand.<p>

An arc of lightning broke through the clouds of ash and darkness, bouncing along the tops of the billow and growing monstrosity, choking out the sun that feebly tried to spread its life-giving rays. Fog, haze, clouds, and ash all mingled together around Him, a tempest of untapped destruction waiting to be unleashed.

But he waited.

They had run, refused to bow to Him.

He was their God now, and they had abandoned Him because their pride.

They didn't understand what He was trying to do.

From the one solid spot within the crater He watched the ground give way and force suffocating ash clouds into the sky, spreading through the atmosphere and outward, dark fingers caressing the world beneath. Creatures of the air fell to the earth below, unable to see or breathe they tumbled with choked cries as their lives flashed out. Livestock shifted and turned toward the sight, instinctual panic making them skittish as they watched the impressive ash cloud move ever closer. The Souls of Purgatory thrummed within Him, mingled with His grace and loving the destruction they had been denied for so long.

_He_ had been denied. He and Souls were one and the same now.

The look of horror on their faces when He presented Himself as their new deity, their new, better God had shocked some part of Him deep inside, the bit of Castiel that still hoped in them, in humanity as a whole. But the new Castiel, the powerful God, He had buried that bit immediately. It could have no part in what He was going to do.

He was going to heal the world.

Already He tested His power, destructive storms spreading across farmland and cities, the lives snuffed out in their wake like the flames of candles blown in the wind as winds demolished homes and business, regardless of the people within. He felt their souls depart from the material word, as the Reapers carried them on, the curling smoke from their blackened wicks the only remainder of their existence. He heard the mourning of their loved ones, the prayers offered up to His Father for their souls or the healing of those hurt or the strength needed to rebuild.

He found it disgusting, if He was honest with Himself. Prayers offered to a deity Who wasn't there and they _knew_ it – He knew they did. But still they persisted in their blind faith, in their ignorance, in their meaningless rituals and babbling words.

It didn't just disgust Him - it _infuriated_ Him.

He would have to make Himself known, give them a God Who could see their suffering, hear their prayers, answer their pleas. He would be every bit the God His Father wasn't – and that's what the Winchesters failed to understand. He would melt the world down like gold, burn away the impurities and recast it into perfection.

_His_ vision, _His_ will, _His_ image.

But their faces still flashed in front of His eyes, blue eyes that were now so distant and immense. He saw their horror and their own disgust at what He'd become, saw them turn their back on Him and walk away without a word.

He'd let them go.

His face twisted in anger and His power rippled outward, breaking the chasm sending new plumes of ash and steam into the air, red lightning flashing in response and striking about in chaotic fashion.

They had _abandoned _their God.

Beneath their green eyes where the horror and disgust was plain, He had seen something else, something that had _hurt_. The old Castiel had gasped inside Him, tickling His mind and trying to reach out. But the new Castiel couldn't allow that, He knew that the Winchesters would abuse that old piece of Him and use it to stop Him. Because they were like that; petty, manipulative, fallen, weak creatures.

Truly His Father's children.

He turned and walked through the crater, the ground solidifying beneath His feet before giving way to the soft ash and tempest of His power. The world disappeared around Him, which was fine because at the moment He didn't want to see this fallen, faithless world with its manipulative, selfish creatures.

He didn't want to see the look of disappointment in the green eyes of the men who'd called Him 'brother', and didn't want to admit how much it hurt.


	4. Part 4: Waiting at the Edge of the World

**A/N: **_A new one, inspired by Gil Scott-Heron's cover of "Me and The Devil". In fact, Crowley's last line is taken from the song. It fit with what I was going for. I've got to admit, I have no idea where Season 7 is going to take the Winchesters or what is going to become of Castiel. Is he the new villain, or will it be rectified during the season premier? Questions, questions. Anyway, hope you like this.  
><em>**Synopsis: **_Crowley waits for God.__  
><em>**Word Count: **_862 _

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><p><em>"It must-a be that old evil spirit..." ~ "Me and The Devil"<em>

Crowley sits on the edge of the world with a drink in hand and wonders if it will be enough.

Not the drink – he'll never run out of that. He's got supply and stock to last a life time, several if he manages it right. He's already killed the liver of his vessel several times over, but it doesn't matter to him anymore. Never mattered, never will.

No, he wonders if the world will be enough.

Enough to satisfy It's hunger, It's lust, It's appetite for destruction and renewal. He's stopped referring to Castiel as, well, Castiel. Whatever that thing was he saw before fleeing for his life, it certainly wasn't Castiel. So he calls the once-angel 'It' or – if the demon is feeling snarky or is particularly drunk, "God".

Crowley's been counting the days since he fled and waited, running when he felt like he needed to even though he knew it was futile. Nothing would stop It from coming after him. But he did learn the Winchesters survived their encounter with It and are on the move just like him, so he feels in good company.

The demon has been paying attention to world news as well, the ash-puking volcano in Iceland, the killer-storms ripping across the United States, the droughts and famines that had hit countries all over the world. He watched the sudden coups and military uprisings, risked walking the butcher fields in Africa where It had walked just to see It's power, stepping through the mutilated bodies with their limbs hacked off by machetes or riddled with bullets, leered at the slaughtered children clung tightly to the breasts of mothers who just hours earlier had been raped by men driven mad with tainted Grace and angry Souls. He had visited one other place that suffered the same fate, a small village outside the Holy Land – the proximity to one of the Old God's most sacred places bringing a smile to the demon's lips.

Crowley couldn't help marveling in it, the insanity and bloodshed worthy of a demon and Hell itself. But he was frightened as well by the ferocity and chaos of it, the signs clear that while It was powerful, It was having difficulty controlling It's new found godhood. If it didn't learn to get a grip on Itself, it would rip the world apart.

So here he sat on the edge of the world and wondering.

Well, it wasn't the edge of the world. It was a cliff that overlooked the cold Atlantic, a place he remembered when he human…he thought he remembered. Were they his memories?

He shook his head and took a drink, feet dangling over the edge of the precipice. It wasn't the edge of the world, but it was poetic and he liked that. The crashing waves roaring on the rocks below, the bleak sea with its cold spray and the grey sky unyielding.

Would the world be enough for It? Would it find enough to maim, to rip, to burn, to destroy? What purpose would it find? Did the signs of nature, the seemingly indiscriminate murder and death, the madness, did it serve some unseen purpose It had?

He was a demon; he should know answers to questions like that. Was the prospect of oblivion at the hands of the new God skewing his thinking? Probably – with Lucifer there was at least the chance of survival, of hiding.

Not with this new thing.

"Hello, Crowley."

The glass froze just before reaching his lips, his eyes closing in relief.

Relief.

No more running, no more hiding.

"Hello, Your Grace," he said, attempting politeness but the venom was still there. He didn't look behind him. "To what do I owe this audience?"

"I have plans for you, Your Majesty," said gravelly voice.

Crowley smiled and let out a small laugh at the condescension in It's voice, the mocking honorific he'd been address with so very un-Castiel.

But then, this wasn't Castiel anymore.

"Do you?" Crowley lowered his glass to his lap, resting it on his thigh and taking a longing look out among the cold ocean. The memory that may or may not have been his whispered in his mind, reminding him of a man – a naïve, silly man – who had stood at this spot and thought it too was the edge of the world.

Stood at the edge of the world and met the devil.

And now Crowley stood here, meeting a different kind of devil.

The demon stood up and dusted off his pants, drained the last of his drink and tossed the crystal glass off the edge. Somewhere below it shattered amongst the rocks, its pieces lost forever.

Crowley turned and straightened his jacket, flashing a smug grin at the thing before him.

"Well then, Satan," he said, relishing the angry look his word's produced, "I believe it's time to go."

The demon noticed the moment's hesitation in the sapphire eyes, an unspoken question lingering before a hand went up and grabbed his shoulder.

Then the thunderous sound of wings and white light, and they were gone.


	5. Part 5: I Wish I'd Said Yes

**A/N: **_The ending is supposed to be ambiguous, just to let you know. The inspiration came from nowhere in particular.  
><em>**Synopsis: **_Dean confronts Castiel for the final time.  
><em>**Word Count: **_826 _

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><p><em>"I sought my soul, but my soul I could not see. I sought my God, but my God eluded me. I sought my brother and I found all three."<em>

"You can't do it, Dean."

The Colt shook in his hand despite the hateful silent screams he yelled at himself to keep it steady. But the sight didn't want to remain focused on Castiel, it wanted to be everywhere else but the god-angel. Because Dean didn't want to shoot him.

"I wish I'd said yes," whispered Dean, voice wavering slightly.

The words were so very quiet and yet Castiel seemed to hear them, his head cocking slightly to the side and eyebrow raised in question.

"What?"

Dean cleared his throat and forced the gun steady, aiming straight for Castiel's head. If he was going to do this, it had to be right.

He only had one shot.

"I wish I'd said yes to Michael," he said, louder and firmer.

There was a look a shock that passed over the god-angel's face, quashed quickly under the cold contempt that had seemed to have taken up permanent residence lately. But there was a flicker of hope in the minute break, a chance that maybe the Castiel he knew wasn't really gone.

"You're lying," he said harshly, stepping forward.

They both knew he didn't need to, that all this New God had to do was snap his fingers and Dean would be no more. But this was a showdown between two men who'd become so much more than friends. Before this, they were brothers – and every fight between brothers was up close, was personal, was so much more than just about who was stronger.

Dean shook his head and took a slight step back; knowing that Castiel was goading him to actually pull the trigger.

"No, I'm not," he said through grit teeth. "I wish I'd said yes, if this is what it would've led to. I'd wish I'd said yes, ended everything so I wouldn't have to stand here with a fucking gun pointed at you. So I didn't have to deal with the year of silence, then the year of lies…"

Dean cocked the gun when Castiel took another step.

"…that it would've been Michael that had to kill you instead of me."

Castiel froze, shoulders tense and brilliant blue eyes wide in shock. The two stared at each other in silence before the god-angel regained his composure, face hardening with anger.

"That's the only way you see this ending, isn't it?" he asked, hands curling into fists at his sides. "Death. All you see is death-"

Dean threw his free hand out, gesturing to the world. "That's all you've left behind you, Cas! That's all you've brought to the world! Death, pain, destruction – you've killed entire cities, driven people mad – I've seen the end results of your experiments! They didn't even look human after you'd gotten through with them!"

"Why can't you understand what I am trying to do?" yelled Castiel, the shadow of his wings curling and flapping as thunder resounded. "There are things that have to be done – transformation, reform, rebirth – it is a process that is painful! If I am to fix this world people will die – there is no way around that!"

Dean's finger tightened around the trigger, but he still couldn't pull it.

"I don't know what you are, but you're not the Cas I knew," he said painfully. "Y-you're something else, something evil."

Blue eyes locked with the green, for the first time both seeing the anger and betrayal they felt toward one another.

"You're right," said Castiel darkly, "I'm not the Cas you knew…"

The god-angel launched himself at Dean, colliding with the surprised man. From the sleeve of his coat came a blade, worn hands gripping the handle and preparing to strike.

"I'm _God_."

There was no other way.

It had to end like this.

A slash, a shot, followed by scarlet blood and white-hot pain, gasps of surprise and agony issuing forth from parted, chapped lips. Then they were together, Castiel on top of Dean and both staring into each other's eyes again, finding now the pain and sadness there. Matching tears welled, the god-angel's own clinging heavily to his eye-lashes before dripping down onto the hunter's face. They both felt pain, both felt the blood gushing between them warm and sticky, both hating that it had come to this.

Castiel pressed his forehead to Dean's and let out a shaking sigh, sniffing back the well of emotion he didn't even know he could feel anymore. Dean's mouth worked around words that couldn't seem to come forth.

"You're my brother, Cas," he said finally, his voice soft.

Castiel just continued to stare at Dean, a cold chill preventing him from looking away.

"I wish I'd said yes."

Finally the god-angel swallowed and licked his lips, the words croaking forth from a throat that didn't want to speak.

"I wish you had too."


End file.
